


what do i call you? (ex sounds wrong)

by hot_damn_louis



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Breaking Up & Making Up, College, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Needs Therapy, Flashbacks, Fluff and Smut, I will write a sex scene and let's hope it goes well, M/M, Memories, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Strong Female Characters, Summer Fling, Therapy, certified angsty, everyone is messed up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:27:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25600573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hot_damn_louis/pseuds/hot_damn_louis
Summary: He had thought that they had more, or maybe he was pushing his own feelings onto whatever they were doing. Either way, there was heartbreak on his end, and bringing it up wasn’t the way he felt like coping with it.He really felt like laying on the floor of his dorm, drunk on tequila, listening to Britney Spears and wishing his life could be easier than it was. That was his perfect Saturday night.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 14
Kudos: 187





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again! Coming back at you with another angsty piece. 
> 
> I've been listening to a lot of sad music lately, so I've been writing angsty, emotionally complicated pieces. I just really want to capture that feeling of yearning, you know?
> 
> This will be 3 parts, and I'll try to post them fairly regularly. Expect each part on Wednesday afternoon/evenings. 
> 
> For reference: this is as if the Nogitsune happened their senior year, and nothing after the Nogitsune has happened. No Malia either. Just play it by ear and you'll get it!
> 
> In case you care about these:  
> [Tumblr](https://rain-or-clouds.tumblr.com/)  
> [Spotify work playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7oYv25Gj7fi4hn03Srt4HV?si=W8BU996fQUCUReA27f-7UQ)

Siles could count the exact number of days he avoided Beacon Hills. It had been 98 days since he had last stepped foot in Beacon Hills, which was considerably longer than he had originally planned on staying away. 

It was not necessarily all his fault. He had a good scholarship for UC Berkeley, and between his studies and working as an aide at the library, it was hard to find the free time to make a trip back. It was only a little over three hours drive, yet he had avoided it as much as possible. 

When Thanksgiving came around, he and his father drove down to Fresno to have dinner with his mother’s side of a family. They didn’t have that much communication, but they tried to get down for a family meal at least once a year. It was important to John that Stiles knew his whole family. 

When Christmas came around, there was no excuse anymore. He hadn’t come back for any weekend so far, and even though it had only been three months since he had started school, it felt like longer for pretty much everyone who still lived in Beacon Hills. 

There were a plethora of reasons why he wanted to avoid Beacon hills. 

He wanted to distance himself, at least a little bit, when it came to his memories of the Nogitsune. There was no feeling of despair quite like seeing a location and remembering exactly how the Nogitsune had manipulated him and hurt others. Walking around was like seeing ghosts, and even though he had been talking to a therapist, he couldn’t help but see the pain coming from all over. 

He didn’t see ghosts on campus. That was the biggest plus of going to Berkeley. 

As he was packing his day bag into his Jeep, he couldn’t help but think of all the people he had left, and the ones that he had ignored for the last few months. What was he supposed to do when everything reminded him of bad memories? 

The drive back was near tortuous, with all of his thoughts dedicated to the people he was going to see. 

He didn’t used to be a typically nervous person. But, after everything that had happened, he couldn’t help but have nerves thrumming through his chest as he drove the last few miles in. He didn’t want to see the town again, and certainly didn’t want to see certain people. 

His father’s house looked the same as ever. 

Pulling into the driveway reminded him of high school, and being in the house reminded him of all the supernatural cases he had attempted to solve. He could still feel the way that the red string had felt against his fingers, the methodical process of tacking it to the wall. 

The Nogitsune had ruined that for him. He didn’t even want to pursue law enforcement anymore, even though that had been a dream he had since he was a kid. Being a police officer seemed so much less important when faced with the danger and sociopolitical responsibilities. 

How could he be a police officer when there were people being killed as a result of police violence? How could he, as someone who had held the eyes of chaos and violence, contribute to a system that was essentially a perpetuation of his time being possessed?

There were too many things to think about. This was why he had avoided coming back. The longer he avoided coming back, the longer he had to ignore the actual problems that faced him. The longer he could avoid knowing looks from Scott and the hard gaze of Derek. 

Walking into his house, he dropped his bag at the base of the stairs. “Dad?” he called out, sort of expecting the cavalry when he arrived. 

When there was no answer, he walked into the kitchen, looking at the fridge to see if his dad had pinned up a note. 

_ Called into the station last minute. Meet me there and we’ll get dinner, Dad _

He pulled the note off of the fridge, tucking it into his pocket. While saving a note this banal and unimportant seemed sort of weird, at this point in his life, Stiles was sort of sentimental about everything. He had seen how quickly things could be stripped away, and how impossible it was to fix it. Anything with his father’s handwriting he kept, stored in a shoe box at his dorm. 

He drove over to the station, sort of tired of driving already, but making his way there. He pushed down the bad memories, trying not to let them overwhelm him. The thoughts of the station bustling with life, and the way that it had been stripped of that, was deplorable. He was a part of the problem. He knew this. 

He parked in his usual spot and headed into the station, giving a nod to Berta at the front desk. As he walked through the desks to his dad’s office, he pressed his lips together tight. He could name all of the officers that used to work there, and he used to know who was at each desk. Now, between the deaths and transfers, the police force was almost new again. 

“Hey Stiles, it’s been a while,” Parish said from his desk, smiling kindly at him. 

“Parish. Keeping my dad safe and all?” Stiles asked, raping his knuckles on the top of his desk. He wanted so badly to feel normal about this, but he still felt strangely guilty. He pushed that feeling down. 

“Kept him on his diet and everything,” Parish said, laughing a little. “He was so annoyed to get called in. He wanted to greet you at home, but they’ve had a few issues with a string of burglaries recently,” Parish explained, gesturing towards his dad’s office where the blinds were drawn. 

“Burglaries?” Stiles asked, furrowing his brow. 

“Nothing to worry about,” Parish said dismissively. He waved a hand as if to emphasize how little it really mattered, which usually meant that it mattered a lot. 

“Well, I’m going to go in. Nice to see you,” Stiles said. He headed over to his father’s office, knocking only twice before pushing in, not waiting for an answer. 

Inside his father’s office was his dad and— 

“Derek?” Stiles asked, surprised. 

Unsurprisingly, seeing Derek made the nervous feelings in his chest go away. He always seemed to do that, even if he wasn’t really trying. His presence alone made him feel calm and at ease, and even if he was worrying before, one glance and he was already feeling better. 

“Hey, Stiles, sorry about the delay. It will only be another minute and we can go,” John said, leaning against the edge of his own desk. “I’m just asking Derek here about some cases.”

It was only then that Stiles noticed the officer’s uniform, hugging Derek tight in the ways that Stiles had imagined. 

_ “Police academy? I didn’t know you did that,” Stiles said, pulling open the bag of takeout. “Were you an officer in New York?” _

_ “Nope. Ended up coming back here before I got placed anywhere. I think I might apply down at the station, work for your dad,” Derek said, shrugging. He grabbed his food from the bag, pushing the rest towards Stiles.  _

_ “That would be cool! My dad is the best, and I think he kind of likes you now,” Stiles said, kicking his foot out, hitting Derek’s leg.  _

He forgot about that conversation, the one they had over the summer. He forgot that Derek had filled out an application. Somehow, coming back to see him as a beat cop was strange. It was so contradictory to the image of a rogue werewolf that Derek had built up over the past few years. 

“Yeah, sure, I’ll just wait right out there,” Stiles said calmly, smiling at his dad. 

Even with Derek’s calming ability, there was still a little bit of hurt and anger hidden deep in Stiles’ chest. He tried to ignore that. 

It was kind of weird to see Derek and his father getting along. He knew it was a real thing, if what he was told about his time as the Nogitsune was right. He knew that they knew each other, but working together? That was crossing lines that Stiles wasn’t really sure he was excited to have crossed. 

Only a minute later, his father came out of his office. “Dinner?”

“Of course,” Stiles said. He spared one more glance at Derek, even though he knew he shouldn’t. More surprisingly was that Derek was looking right back at him. 

***

It wasn’t until dinner the next night that John had finally asked him. 

“What’s the deal with you and Hale?”

It was the loaded question that Stiles had hoped he would never have to answer. He was surprised his dad hadn’t asked him yesterday after the situation in his office, or after he stiffened over breakfast when John had mentioned it in passing. 

“There’s no deal,” Stiles said, shrugging. That was the simplest answer, and arguably the truth. There was no deal. 

“Then what was yesterday? And why did he mope around work all today, even though he’s never done that before?” John asked pointedly, raising an eyebrow. 

“Maybe he got bad news, I don’t know. It’s not my job to know his business,” Stiles said sharply, looking down at his food. This line of questioning was particularly frustrating so far. 

John stayed quiet for a few bites, but he eventually spoke again. “You don’t have to give me any details. I just want to know if there’s something I should be doing differently,” John said, always the supportive father. He really was the best sometimes. 

“Whatever was happening is over,” Stiles said quietly. He couldn’t lie that much to his father, but he certainly wasn’t going to volunteer the truth more than that. Even then, that was the most he had spoken about Derek since summer. 

He had thought that they had more, or maybe he was pushing his own feelings onto whatever they were doing. Either way, there was heartbreak on his end, and bringing it up wasn’t the way he felt like coping with it. 

He really felt like laying on the floor of his dorm, drunk on tequila, listening to Britney Spears and wishing his life could be easier than it was. That was his perfect Saturday night. 

“Really, dad, I’m fine. I wouldn’t worry about me,” Stiles said, his fork clinking on his plate. He had lost his appetite the moment his dad brought up Derek, and there was no way he was going to regain it tonight. 

“I have the urge to be protective of my son, but if you want me to back off, I can,” John said. Despite this reassuring sentiment, it still felt as if he was going to do more. As if he was going to talk to Derek, or something even worse. 

Although, nothing could somehow make things worse between Stiles and Derek. They had both sort of fucked that whole thing up. 

***

_ Stiles kicked his foot at Derek playfully, hitting him square in the thigh. “Everyone bailed on this pack meeting.” _

_ “It’s supposed to be mandatory,” Derek growled, tilting his head back against his couch, slumping even further into the cushions. He looked up at the ceiling, ignoring the way that Stiles was trying to get his attention.  _

_ “Even our mighty True Alpha skipped out on his own meeting,” Stiles said, kicking at Derek again.  _

_ “That just means that Scott wouldn’t know his head from his ass if he didn’t have you or Kira around,” Derek said, grabbing Stiles’ ankle, preventing him from kicking anymore.  _

_ Stiles wiggled a little, but let himself be caught. He was flirting in the only way he knew how with Derek, not because he was bored, but because he was slowly realizing how great of a guy he was. Maybe teasing him could be fun instead of intended for shame and humiliation.  _

_ “Scott knows that, I had to teach him when we were in 4th grade. He just can’t tell time. I don’t think he ever learned to read a clock face,” Stiles said, letting his foot rest in Derek’s lap.  _

_ Casual touching was something that neither of them really did. Not towards anyone else, unless a few back slaps and hugs with Scott were anything to shake a tail at. When they were alone, there was something different. Stiles could be a little more like himself and a little less like the reserved, cautious guy trying to fight off his mental battles. He felt like himself around Derek.  _

_ “I’m sure you have Friday night plans that you want to go do,” Derek said, resting his hands on Stiles’ feet, letting them sit in his lap. He looked down, as if waiting for some sort of blow.  _

_ “Nowhere I’d rather be, sourwolf,” Stiles teased, shooting him a grin. “Is there a tv around here? Or are there other means of entertainment?” _

_ “Other means?” Derek asked.  _

_ Stiles sat up, pulling his feet away from Derek. He leaned in close, sitting only a breath away. “Card games? Puzzles? Something a little more physical?” Stiles asked. He only realized his double entendre after the fact, but accepted it nonetheless. He liked flirting with Derek.  _

_ “I don’t think you know a thing about physicality, Stiles,” Derek said, looking down at Stiels’ mouth and back up, eyes alight with something.  _

_ “I’ll show you physicality,” Stiles muttered. He leaned in and kissed Derek firmly, reaching up to grab the back of Derek’s neck. He gave it everything he had, capturing his lips in a calm but insistent way. He wanted to touch, but held back, leaving a whisper of space between them. It left Derek with options, to choose to be closer or not.  _

_ Derek’s large hand grabbed Stiles’ waist, fitting there perfectly, He hauled Stiles in, tugging at his leg so that he was straddled, their chests pressing together. With every moment, Stiles could feel the way that Derek was breathing heavy. With Derek’s hands sliding into his back pockets, he didn’t really care how quickly he was breathing or his heart was beating.  _

***

He couldn’t help himself. He drove over to Derek’s new house and sat outside, knowing that this was probably the creepiest thing he has ever done in his life. 

If he squeezed his eyes shut, he could pretend as if it was summertime again. When things were good, and his days were spent laying on Derek’s couch, or cuddling in Derek’s bed. If he pretended, he could see the way that Derek would look at him, as if he was the most precious thing in the world. He could almost picture it.

What he wasn’t expecting was for Derek to come walking out of his own house, feet in his slippers and a jacket pulled tight over his bare chest. 

“Stiles?” he asked, as if it was a surprise to see him at all. 

“Hey,” Stiles said, getting out of his car. He realized how weird this looked, with him sitting in front of the house. At any other moment, Derek probably would have thought something was wrong, or maybe like the Nogitsune had come back. 

“What are you doing here?” Derek asked, looking Stiles up and down.   
“Pretending,” Stiles said honestly. He was afraid that if he spoke more than a few words, more would spill out, and words he never meant to say would be lying between them. He didn’t want those words, the ones that had been hiding, to spill out now. 

Derek seemed unsatisfied with this answer. “Care to elaborate?” he asked, looking at him expectantly. Behind his eyes was something else, something more, but it was masked by the expectant expression on his face. 

Stiles wanted so badly to know what that more was. 

“No.”

This frustrated Derek, if the way that he clenched his jaw was evidence enough. “I don’t really want to do this here,” Derek said sharply, looking around as if there were crowds of people waiting for them to start fighting in the street or something. 

“Do what? Talk? Because if I remember, you had a hard time with that,” Stiles said, a little of his frustration and anger of the past few months slipping out. He didn’t really mean those things, not now, but he had thought them over and over when he had first moved away. 

Sometimes he wished he could communicate in touch, because then they would be on the same page. Right now, they were two stubborn idiots who have no idea what being in a relationship of any kind is like. 

“Listen, I’m the foolish one here, thinking that we had anything besides a summer fling, so I’m just going to go,” Stiles said. He got back into his car quickly, trying to ignore the intense look that he received from Derek. 

Derek was saying something, but it was muffled over the sounds of the car engine and the relative soundproofing of the glass. Whatever he was saying was likely some poor excuse for his behavior, and Stiles had done enough wallowing in his own sadness. 

As he pulled away, he couldn’t help but wince at his own stupidity. This was not a moment he was proud of, wasting his days and energy on a person who didn’t understand. He might as well major in philosophy. Even then, his time he spent pondering and doing something completely useless would end up with a degree.

He was done crying over Derek Hale. 

***

“Do you really think going out to the nearest gay bar is a good idea?” Lydia asked, leaning forward to check her makeup in Stiles’ bathroom mirror. 

“Yes,” Stiles said decisively, tugging on his tight shirt. 

This was a routine that he had developed at Berkeley. He had a fake ID, which made getting in easier, and he would dance the night away with some random guys in the hopes that it would make him forget about Derek. 

He never drank or hooked up with anyone, not because he didn’t want to, but because he knew better than to have regrets in the morning because he was feeling desperate. He wanted to lose himself to the music and have fun. 

Tonight’s fit was a dark green shirt, tight to his torso, and a pair of dark wash skinny jeans. He made sure to spike his hair up, not into the severe spikes he had before, but into soft spikes that would inevitably droop as he sweated. To finish it off, he had Lydia apply the smallest amount of highlighter to his cheek bones, letting him glow in the technicolor lights of the club. 

“I don’t see why you can’t just talk to Scott about this,” Lydia said, huffing as she twirled a long piece of hair around her finger. “I like dressing up for a club, but this isn’t necessarily a healthy coping mechanism.”

“I can’t talk to him because he doesn’t know, remember?” Stiles said, trying to look at himself with a shred of confidence in the mirror. 

The largest part of his and Derek’s relationship was how secretive they ended up being. It started out as something small between them, but as they started hanging out more, they forgot to mention it to anyone else. 

The only reason why Lydia knew was because Stiles had to tell someone, and by the time that summer had ended, she was already halfway across the country. She wasn’t going to spill the beans or confront Derek about his behaviors when she was a plane ride away. 

“I think maybe you should tell him. Stop keeping secrets and try to move on before it eats you up,” Lydia said, brushing an imaginary hair off of Stiles’ shoulder. 

“You sound like my therapist,” Stiles complained, pushing Lydia out of his bathroom. 

“She sounds like a smart person,” Lydia said simply, walking towards the front door. 

“How did you know it was a woman?” Stiles asked, trailing after her. 

Lydia turned and smiled, flicking her hair off of her shoulder. “I just knew you had a thing for powerful women telling you what to do.”

“Ha. Ha. Can we get moving? I wanna get there while the set is still good,” Stiles said, moving the two of them out the door. 

The wind rushing on his face while he drove was exhilarating in a strange way. The weather hadn’t turned yet in Berkeley, so driving around campus felt the same as any other fall California day. Because Beacon Hills was in the mountains and further north, the cold had started to set in. The way the air swirled around him, chilling him to the bone, was utterly satisfying. It made him feel something other than the gripping darkness left over from the Nogitsune, or the broken heart that was aching in his chest.

With the wind blowing on him, he could almost feel like he was away from Beacon Hills, in the safety of college. 

“You’re buying me a drink,” Lydia said, watching his face. She could probably see the longing and eventual acceptance in his face, his emotions flickering so slightly despite all of his practice. 

“Yeah, sure,” Stiles said, pulling aside to park. 

There was no line, which he was grateful for. It meant instant entry, and movement into the wall of sound so much quicker. He could lose himself here. The music was matching his heart rate, pulsing with the beat of the base. 

“Go have fun!” Lydia yelled, her voice barely audible over the music. She patted him on the shoulder and went her own way, beelining towards the bar. 

There were a few key things to dancing the night away. 

First was to not wear yourself out too quickly. Going too hard within the first half hour of arriving often meant cutting the night shorter or taking longer breaks. Easing into it and feeling out the groove of the floor was key to having the night start off well.

Second was to stay hydrated. Take breaks for water when needed, especially when drinking. There was no reason to dehydrate yourself because you were careless about your own body. 

Third was to not overthink it. The worst thing was trying to think too hard about any one thing in particular. For Stiles this meant not thinking about— 

“Derek?” Stiles said in surprise, slowing his dancing as he saw him from across the room. 

He was standing at a booth, laughing with his chin tilted up. He was wearing a blue v-neck, the same one from Halloween last year. In the lighting of the club, it looked bright against his skin, making his scruff look even darker than it really was. He looked good. Parish, sitting in the booth, was clearly out of his element. 

Stiles was trying really hard not to think, but he couldn’t help but let his eyes slide towards Derek as he danced. He wanted to grind on some strangers, feel their hands against his torso and along his shoulders. He was hoping for the ghosts of their touch to cover up everywhere that Derek’s hands had been. 

He rubbed a hand over his hair, trying to focus on the guy he was dancing with. Thinking was the last thing on his list. 

(He felt magically better the moment that he saw Derek, but he was going to chalk that up to the adrenaline kicking in, not Derek’s calming presence.)

He let the guy put his hands on his hips, and in turn Stiles slid his hands into the guy’s hair. He was blonde, with a shaggier cut, which was perfect for Stiles to tug at gently. His lean body was the opposite of Stiles’ type, but that was a good thing. He was only looking for a hot dance partner, not a life partner. 

He closed his eyes against the lights, his body rubbing deliciously against the other guy. He could feel hands slip underneath his shirt, fingers hot and sharp against his torso. He leaned into the guy, grinding hard to the beat. Sweat ran down his forehead, but he ignored that in favor of moving to the music. 

When the guy pulled away, Stiles opened his eyes quickly. It was somehow totally unsurprising to see Derek pulling the guy away, taking his place and leaning into the same contact. 

Stiles shook his head, but he still slid his hands across Derek’s shoulders. “Why?” he said, even though he knew Derek couldn’t hear him. 

They danced closer and closer, Derek’s hands grabbing his waist and hauling him in. He set the pace, pulling Stiles flush and dancing anyways. They gravitated towards each other, moving in a way that was so familiar. If Stiles let himself go, he could pretend that they were still together. 

Derek’s lips pressed against his neck, hot against his skin. As he moved down his neck, each kiss burned hot. It left Stiles aching for more, for the heat and passion he wanted so badly. 

He couldn’t really, could he? Could he just keep hooking up with Derek and hoping that everything would work itself out? 

Stiles pulled back, pushing Derek away and giving distance between the two of them. “I can’t,” Stiles said, shaking his head. Even now, away from Derek, he still wanted those hands grabbing at him and those lips kissing him. 

He spun quickly, putting as much physical distance between him and Derek before he did something stupid. He didn’t want to be the fool hooking up with an ex fling because he was still in love with him. 

Fuck, did he really admit that in his own mind? Was Stiles in love with Derek?

He found Lydia and Parish at the bar, flirting over some drinks. 

“I gotta go,” Stiles said, giving a quick nod to Parish. “You know who is here, and I can’t—” Stiles cut himself off, not wanting to lay his heart out in front of Parish. 

“Let’s go then,” Lydia said, patting Stiles’ shoulder. “Wait for me outside while I wrap up my tab, okay?”

Stiles nodded, turning and weaving quickly bak through the crowd. 

The air outside was colder than he had expected, the brisk breeze leaving Stiles shivering in his t-shirt. Goosebumps broke out on his skin, but the sensation helped him stay grounded in the moment. 

Cold weather still reminded him of the final Nogitsune showdown. 

_ “Do you really think about it that often?” Derek asked quietly, fingers trailing up and down Stiles’ bare back. He paused at any scars, feeling at them gently.  _

_ “Every day. I know it wasn’t my fault, but they’re still my memories, you know?” Stiles said, shrugging slightly. He lifted his head to kiss Derek’s chest, shifting on top of him further. “Some things just remind me of it. I’ll get through it eventually,” Stiles added, trying to downplay the hurt and ache in his chest.  _

“Let’s get you home,” Lydia said, tugging at Stiles’ arm as she walked past him, pulling him towards where they parked. 

“Sorry for ruining your night,” Stiles said quietly, his voice too loud in the quiet night. He hated being a burden, with that feeling only heightened after the past two years. 

“I don’t mind. I already made plans to see Parish tomorrow. I’m more concerned about you and Derek grinding like no tomorrow on the dance floor,” Lydia said, giving him a pointed look. 

Stiles flushed red, even though you couldn’t see it in the dark. Dancing with him and getting caught was one thing he was actually embarrassed about, considering the night was meant to forget Derek entirely. 

“There’s something about him that I can’t resist,” Stiles said, as if that explained anything. 

It was true. He liked the way he felt around Derek. He wanted to feel like that all the time, and while he was getting closer with therapy, there was still that feeling of darkness and the residual heartbreak in the way. He wanted to feel happy. 

“Maybe you feel that way because you’re in love with him,” Lydia said confidently. 

Even Stiles wasn’t that confident, and he was the one in the relationship in question. 

“Really?” Stiles asked, looking down at his hands, as if he would have changed visually upon acknowledging it. 

“I think you should talk to him,” Lydia said, looking at Stiles seriously. 

That was probably the hardest thing Stiles could do, and yet the most necessary. 

“I can only try,” Stiles said, unlocking his car. 

Once they were inside, it was clear that the conversation was over. 

***

_ The way that Derek’s hands gripped his hips, lifting them up, was so incredibly hot. He liked the feeling of Derek’s fingertips digging into his skin, pushing in and giving him a real feeling. He loved the heat of Derek’s chest and the way they grinded together. He melted in Derek’s embrace, wanting to feel connected with him like this forever.  _

_ They moved quickly, hands tugging at pants and pushing down underwear until they were both bare, cocks pressing together between them.  _

_ “Fuck you’re so hot,” Stiles said, pressing his forehead against Derek’s. He grinded down, loving the way they slid together.  _

_ Derek only gripped them in response, stroking them together with one large hand. “Shut up.” _

_ “You like it,” Stiles shot back, panting slightly as they moved together. “You like when I talk. Turns you on. Gets you—” _

_ Derek cut him off with a kiss. _

***

Before leaving for college, Stiles could spend up the hours in a day quickly. He could fill it with monsters and video games and homework, and if that wasn’t enough, then he had Scott to fill up any other hours that needed filling. 

Now, it felt nearly impossible to make it through ten minutes without that ache of boredom starting in. He wanted to do something,  _ anything _ , but nothing felt right. 

He sort of knew why, but he was really not acknowledging that. He was not emotionally prepared for a certain someone, or any form of confrontation. 

His inability to spend his time left him in Scott’s bedroom, laying on his bed and trying to do anything to keep himself occupied. 

(Stiles was also secretly worried that if he was too dormant, he would be repossessed by the Nogitsune. Even if that was impossible.)

“Are you going to keep moping?” Scott asked, dropping a bag of chips on Stiles’ chest. He sat on the edge of the bed, causing Stiles to shift his body in accordance. 

“Yes.”

Scott smacked his leg. “Listen, I don’t know who broke your heart, but should you really be moping around because of some girl you go to college with?”

Wrong. It was a guy, and it was Derek, and it was a summer fling. Although, to be fair, they were only a thing for a little over two months, which is nothing compared to the great span of life. 

But Scott knew none of this. That was kind of the bigger problem. 

So maybe he should have told Scott. At the time, they were diverging for the first real time in their lives. Scott had Kira and Isaac had come back for the summer, meaning that much more of Scott’s time was taken up by them. On top of that, Stiles was only two months out of the Nogitsune situation, leaving him mourning and mentally unstable. Instead of throwing himself into his other friends, Stiles had started to shrink into himself at the end of his senior year. Even with therapy, it was impossible. 

“Not a girl, and he wasn’t at my school,” Stiles said, trying to be honest for once. He looked up at Scott, pressing his lips together to attempt to express how uncomfortable he was with this whole situation.

This seemed to throw Scott for a loop. “A guy? From where?” Scott asked, his brow furrowing in confusion. He looked almost comical, his expression so extreme considering the situation. 

“From this past summer,” Stiles said, throwing his arm over his eyes, blocking out ridiculous Scott. He wished Scott would just guess, so he didn’t have to say his name out loud. He was trying to get over the situation, not keep bringing it up. 

“You hung out with me all summer.”

“No, I really didn’t,” Stiles said, sighing. He knew he wasn’t the number one priority in Scott’s life, not anymore, but this was really another nail in the coffin of their best friendship. It reminded Stiles that one day they would not be best friends anymore, but that was another heartache for another day. 

“Over the summer we had pack stuff, but I don’t think we were hanging out with anyone else—” Scott broke off suddenly. “It was someone in our pack. Danny? Ethan? Who else is gay?” 

This mystery was right under his nose, and yet Scott was somehow unable to connect the dots. It was almost laughable, but at the same time Stiles so desperately wanted him to know. Maybe that would help him with the heart ache. 

“It’s Derek, Okay? I’m still in love with Derek.”

This seemed to startle Scott into silence. He literally couldn’t speak, his mouth audibly opening and closing sharply. The sound of his teeth clicking together was somehow even stranger than anything he could have said. 

“Really?”

“Yes, Scott, really,” Stiles said, sitting up, keeping his eyes averted. “We’re both fucked up, you know? We were hooking up until we weren’t, and even though I was trying so hard to get over him, it seems like I’m not,” Stiles continued, wringing his hands together. He started tapping his fingers methodically, counting to ten in his head over and over. 

“Oh, buddy,” Scott said, pulling Stiles into a hug. 

He let himself be hugged, because dammit, it felt good to be held. He let himself relax into the contact, leaning his head onto Scott’s shoulder. He wanted so badly for things to feel better, to feel anything again. 

He wanted that summer feeling of driving down the highway with the windows down, blasting shitty music out of his tinny car stereo. He wanted to feel the wind in his hair, feel the way it both warmed and cooled his skin. He wanted to watch the sunset behind the trees, arm hanging out the window and a smile plastered on his face just because he could feel things. 

“Things will pass, and he’s a fool for not wanting you the same way,” Scott murmured, ever supportive. “I knew he was a bad guy, that he was going to do something totally shitty—”

“Don’t. Being mean to him doesn’t make me feel any better. He doesn’t deserve any hate,” Stiles said, pulling away from Scott. 

“Why? He was bad to you,” Scott said, surprised. 

“But life has basically unloaded a dump truck full of bad things on him, and I really don’t want to be one more. I’m already buckling underneath the weight of my issues, I couldn’t imagine how bad he has it,” Stiles said, knocking his knee against Scott. “Save your rage for the next baddie, okay?”

“Sure thing,” Scott said, clapping Stiles’ shoulder. He gave it a reassuring squeeze, as if he could squeeze out all of the pain and suffering. 

Stiles really wished that he could sometimes. 

***

_ Stiles kissed down Derek’s chest, raking his fingers along his ribs. He liked the way that Derek’s breath would hitch at the feeling of his fingers, the way they would trace down his sides. The little moans he would let out as Stiles kissed down his body were satisfying. He never thought he would hear Derek like this.  _

_ He went to bite against Derek’s skin, lips poised over his abs, when Derek shot up, pushing him away. Instead of the little breaths and moans, he was breathing hard, averting his eyes.  _

_ Stiles sat back on his heels, looking at Derek, concerned for what was happening. “Are you okay?” Stiles asked, holding his hands in his lap. He reached one hand out, as if to touch Derek, but thought better of it, pulling it back quickly.  _

_ “She used to do that,” Derek mumbled, wrapping his arms around his bare torso.  _

_ “Who?” Stiles asked, helpless. He couldn’t help but wonder which one of Derek’s fucked up exes had tortured him this way.  _

_ “Kate,” Derek said sharply, glancing up at Stiles. He paused, as if thinking about the next part. “She would bite at my skin and laugh when my body would heal the marks away,” Derek explained, turning away from Stiles. He got out of the bed, walking towards the windows, keeping his back to Stiles.  _

_ “I’m sorry. She had no right to do that to you.” _

_ Derek turned and looked at him, face hard, decisive. “You can go.” _

_ “What if I stayed? We don’t have to do anything else, except maybe cuddle,” Stiles suggested.  _

_ He went to Derek because he liked the feeling of being with him, and he felt cared for when he was there. He liked the feeling of Derek’s strong arms around him, and he liked their whispered conversations when they both finished, even if those conversations only lasted a few minutes before one of them would get up again. He liked Derek.  _

_ This proposition seemed to confuse Derek, but after a few moments of sustained eye contact, he nodded, moving back towards the bed. He let Stiles pull him down, and he let himself be maneuvered until they were spooning, Stiles acting as the big spoon and wrapping himself onto his back. Stiles placed his forehead on Derek’s tattoo on his back, trying to push his positive thoughts into Derek.  _

_ *** _

Today was the last time he was going to stop by Derek’s house. He was saying his goodbye, trying to put it behind him for good. In his efforts to make peace, he wanted to give closure to this part of his life. 

(He had also sent a panicked email to his therapist who had suggested this as an option, and had scheduled an additional appointment with him early the next week.)

He ran through a list of why he was happy he had a relationship with Derek, trying to remind himself why this connection would be productive for the rest of his life. Social skills, the ability to empathize in moments where he didn’t think he could, and some pretty good sex experience. 

“What are you doing back here?”  
Stiles looked up from his hands, not surprised to see Derek. “Saying goodbye. I won’t bother you anymore after this, I promise.”

This caused Derek to furrow his brow, opening and closing his mouth a few times but no words coming out. He seemed conflicted, but that tracked considering his confusing behavior. Standoffish yet still trying to kiss him at a club. He was playing with Stiles’ feelings, even if he didn’t realize it. 

“What if I don’t want a goodbye?” Derek asked, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. He hunched his shoulders, looking much smaller than he usually did. 

“You made it very clear that we were over, okay? I can’t just be friends with you, if that’s what you’re getting at,” Stiles said, shaking his head. He rounded back to the driver side of the Jeep, ready to put everything to rest right there. 

“Wait!” Derek called out, stepping towards the car. 

“I can’t, Derek. ‘Friends’ is not enough for me, but I understand if it’s all you want. I’m going to leave, and you’re going to let me.”

Stiles got into the Jeep, starting it and pulling away as soon as he could. 

He ignored the way that the tears slipped down his face, pretending as if he was just sweating really hard. He was getting good at lying to himself. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback to before Stiles left for college

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a little smut, as a treat ;)
> 
> Thank you so much for the comments and kudos so far. I greatly appreciate any and all support! 
> 
> I have the third part written, and I'll be posting it later this week. 
> 
> Tumblr   
>  Spotify playlist

“Derek? I brought over some snacks,” Stiles said, dropping a tote bag on the coffee table. He didn’t expect to be swept up into strong arms, carried off deeper into the house. 

“You’re the snack I was looking for,” Derek growled, his hands grabbing Stiles’ butt and waist as he carried him. 

Somehow, Stiles knew exactly where they were going. They were headed straight for the bedroom, Derek tossing him down onto the bed. Sometimes they would do this, rush to sex before anything else, only so that they had time for round two. Sometimes they would talk first. This seemed to be the former. 

Derek was already stripping off his own shirt and pants. Stiles watched him, eyes raking over his toned body. He would never get over how ripped Derek was, the way his muscles moved under his skin and the way his limbs moved with confidence. He was walking sex on a stick, and damn, Stiles was going to watch. 

“What are you doing.” Derek looked at him expectantly, giving a little nod as if waiting for Stiles to start taking his own clothes off. 

“Oh, right,” Stiles said. He stripped off his shirt and wiggled out of his pants, trying to be as quick as possible under Derek’s watchful eye. He could already feel his cock hardening just at the thought of having sex with Derek. Maybe that was pathetic, but he really enjoyed himself. It made him feel alive. 

Derek crawled over him, pinning him down with his naked body. He waited, a breath above Stiles’ mouth, looking at him with an intensity that Stiles couldn’t place. “Fuck,” Derek murmured, hand tracing down Stiles’ side. 

He leaned down and kissed him fiercely, capturing his lips with passion. This seemed different than the other passionate times they had fucked. This was loaded with emotions, if Stiles was reading the kiss correctly. It felt significant, as if he was trying to savor it. 

The way that Derek grabbed at Stiles’ hips lit his body on fire, the pressure on his skin making him arch up into Derek’s body, clutching at him desperately. Moments like this, he couldn’t wait until Derek was inside of him. It was all he wanted, to feel the way Derek moved and his whole length. 

“Fuck me,” Stiles murmured, breaking away from the kiss. “Please, Derek, fuck me,” Stiles wimpered, arching his body into Derek. 

Instead of moving quickly, Derek moved slow. He kissed his way down Stiles’ neck, moving his strong hands along Stiles’ legs, squeezing them with every movement. He hitched Stiles’ legs up around his hips, bringing them ever closer. He grinded down onto Stiles, their cocks rubbing together. 

“So impatient,” Derek murmured, leaning up to take a good look at Stiles. 

“Like you aren’t,” Stiles shot back. 

Derek rolled his eyes, but he reached over to the bedside table for the lube. He quickly slicked up his fingers, pressing against Stiles’ hole tentatively, as if asking for permission. 

“Please, dear god,” Stiles moaned, tilting his head back, wanting so badly for Derek to just hurry up and prep him. 

Derek never went quick with this, even after the past two months of sex. Even with Stiles’ reassurance, or even if Stiles had prepped himself at home, Derek always took his time opening him up. He would start slow, with one finger, teasing in a patient way. He would watch Stiles’ face, monitoring his emotions and reveling in the way that Stiles would beg him to hurry up. 

“Derek, we literally only have tonight and tomorrow before I leave. Please hurry up,” Stiles said, gripping Derek’s biceps, trying to pull him down and closer. 

This seemed to get him moving. He quickly positioned them, sliding a pillow under Stiles’ hips and hiking his legs up. He ran his hands down Stiles’ thighs, as if memorizing them one last time. 

When he slid in, Stiles couldn’t help but gasp. Almost immediately that gasp was swallowed up into a kiss, Derek pining Stiles to the bed with his own body. Even after a few moments to adjust, Stiles was still not ever really used to the way that Derek felt in him. He couldn’t even count how many times they had been together, and even now he still wasn’t used to it. 

“Oh fuck me,” Stiles moaned, clutching at the back of Derek’s neck. He pulled Derek down, which had him immediately sucking on Stiles’ neck, intent on leaving a mark. 

He moved unbearably slow, his lips tight on Stiles’ neck. The way he caressed Stiles was gentle, thumbs smoothing over his ribs and fingers splayed along his sides. He slid one arm along Stiles’, grabbing it and twining their fingers together, pressing both of their hands down into the bed. 

With ever slow thrust, Stiles let out a soft moan. He liked being vocal for Derek. It always seemed to encourage him, and he liked letting him know how much he enjoyed it. The one time he was quiet, Derek kept asking him what was wrong. Now, he makes sure to let out moans if he’s enjoying it. 

“So fucking hot,” Derek murmured, pressing kisses up Stiles’ jaw. He started moving faster, hips thrusting a little harder. This was what Stiles really liked, when they started to get moving closer and closer to finishing. 

Stiles’ breath hitched. With the increased pace, Derek was hitting his spot over and over, lighting his whole body alight. He felt electrified, his skin buzzing everywhere that they were touching. He pushed himself against Derek, his leaking cock trapped between them. 

“Yeah, like that,” Stiles moaned, squeezing Derek’s hand. He went to reach between them, to give some relief to his cock, but Derek pushed his hand out of the way, grabbing it himself. He stroked in time with his thrusts, fast but not fast enough. 

Stiles whined, tilting his head back and letting himself get lost in the touch. He never felt better than when Derek was touching him, making him come. He liked the way his body felt both grounded and totally electrified. He liked the way that Derek would anchor him, hold him down and keep him there. 

(He didn’t want to admit that Derek was his anchor, if humans who were formerly possessed even really had one.)

“I’m gonna miss this,” Derek said, leaning down to press a kiss on Stiles’ jawline. He started thrusting harder, setting an impossibly fast pace. When he did this, it always pushed Stiles over the edge, all of the sensations completely overwhelming. 

“I’m gonna—” Stiles moaned, arching up into Derek. 

That was as much warning as he got out before he was coming over both of them. 

“Stiles,” Derek moaned, thrusting one last time before finishing, letting himself drape over Stiles. 

They lay together, panting, holding each other close and tight even though the come was sticky between them. Somehow, Stiles had a feeling Derek liked it that way, with their scents mingling together. It had to be significantly more intense for a werewolf. 

“I think I love you,” Stiles muttered, barely audible. Even then, he knew that Derek heard him. 

This had Derek moving off of him quickly, leaving the room faster than Stiles could say anything else. 

Fuck. Stiles had fucked up big this time. He shouldn’t have said that. They had never even said that they were dating. They were hooking up, playing house, but not boyfriends. He had no right to drop that bomb on him. 

He wanted to apologize immediately. Smooth things over before he had to leave for college. 

Derek returned with a washcloth. He cleaned Stiles up gently, like he always did. Instead of pressing kisses into his skin, his face was hard and his eyes were distanced. He clearly was not taking this admission well. 

“Der, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that, and I really shouldn’t have sprung that on you when we’ve never said that we—” Stiles started, sitting up as Derek finished, wanting to make that hard look in his face go away. He wanted to soft Derek that he was used to seeing, the one that told him how hot he was and who teased him playfully. 

“I think we have to be done.”

It was so silent, you could practically hear the traffic a few blocks over. The hum of the A/C unit was suddenly too loud from the other room, filling all of the air between them. It was a kind of intensity that Stiles hated, the one that wasn’t solved with teasing and sex. This was a kind of intensity solved with fighting and violence. 

“Done?” Stiles asked weakly, feeling so utterly small. 

“You’re going away, what we had was fun, let’s be done,” Derek said coldly, as if this was sort of obvious. He was averting his eyes, looking anywhere but where Stiles was still sitting, naked on his bed. 

This was completely ridiculous. Derek was seriously ending things right after they had sex, while they were both still naked. What a stupid way to get dumped. 

“I can’t believe that you’re just dumping me. I know it started as hooking up, but I thought that we were starting to become friends, or at least getting to know each other. Der, I trust you, I put all my  _ faith _ into you, I thought that we—” Stiles broke off, shaking his head. He fought tears, standing quickly. 

“I never said any of that, or expected any of that from you,” Derek said. He pressed his lips together, so utterly blank expression on his face. 

Stiles hastily wiped his face, trying to dry any stray tears. “Fine. Fuck you then,” Stiles said. He quickly gathered his clothes, slipping them on fast under Derek’s watchful gaze. He hated this, trying to escape a literal nightmare. He felt unstable again, his hands twitching. He took a deep breath, counting out to ten on his fingers, trying to ground himself despite having the rug pulled out from under him. 

“Have fun at college,” Derek said, finally, as Stiles was walking out of his room. 

“I fucking will, you asshole,” Stiles said, sparing him one last look. 

He only glanced for a moment, but he swore Derek looked sad, just like he felt. He wanted to run back in there, shake Derek and hope that he was just saying these things out of insecurities. 

But he couldn’t ignore the hardness in his face, the distance in his eyes. He was done with Stiles, and that was final. There was nothing else that Stiles could do about it. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia is smarter than them all and should be respected, dammit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the last of it! Thanks for reading! 
> 
> I love writing dumb emotional stuff like this, so if you also like it, let me know and I'll write way more of it. 
> 
> [Tumblr](https://rain-or-clouds.tumblr.com/)   
>  [Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7oYv25Gj7fi4hn03Srt4HV?si=ihrPuQTyT9O-j77n6nqa7g/)

“What did you do?” Lydia asked, barging into Stiles’ bedroom. 

“Hello, Lydia. So nice to see you again, here in my bedroom,” Stiles responded, not looking up from his book. He was trying to drown himself in someone else’s reality, to take away from all of the emotions he felt upon returning to Beacon Hills. This was not a helpful situation. 

“I had Derek over last night, and he was completely torn up. So, I ask again: what did you do?” She seemed business, if the stern expression and crossed arms meant anything. 

“Look, Lydia, I have to get over him. I know that we are indifferent, and despite this I keep coming back like a lovesick puppy. I have to put my feelings aside once and for all, even if that means my heart breaks fully,” Stiles said, tucking a bookmark into his book. 

When he finally looked up at Lydia, she truly looked angry. Or, at the very least, completely and utterly put out at the entire situation. 

“Stiles.”

“What do you want me to say? I went over there yesterday and told him I was saying a final goodbye, since I can’t be friends with him,” Stiles said, crossing his arms to mirror Lydia. “I was just trying to give myself some closure.”

“Closure? Neither of you want ‘closure’,” Lydia said firmly. She gave him a  _ look _ , one that meant she was serious business. This was the look that Stiles both hated and desperately craved, because it meant that she was not adding or embellishing what she was saying. This was the look that meant utter truth at any cost. 

“Neither? Do you not remember him breaking up with me? If that’s even what you can call it,” Stiles said, pushing himself to standing. He clenched his fists, crossing his arms again to try and hold in his emotions. 

Lydia shook her head, pressing her lips together firmly. “Just because he did that doesn’t mean he meant it.”

“What does that even mean? He said that we were done,” Stiles said, confused by her strange insistence that things could be anything but how they currently were. 

“I was talking to him—” Lydia started. 

“Great, so you talk to him.” Stiles interrupted. 

Lydia fixed him with a glare, shutting him up. 

“I was talking to him when you were gone, and he was absolutely hung up over you. He asked me if what he did was right, letting you go. He felt guilty as hell for ‘holding you back’,” Lydia said, sighing at this. 

“So I’m just supposed to go see if he wants me? Beg desperately for him?” Stiles asked. 

“No, you idiot. I’m saying that you need to actually  _ talk _ to him. You might find he has a lot more to say than a stupid excuse to end it before either of you professed love.”

“But—” 

“No complaining, Stiles. You’re the one who has found himself negotiating a relationship with a relationship challenged werewolf.”

She started out of his room, flicking her hair behind her as she walked. At his doorway, she pivoted back, flashing Stiles a bright smile. “And, you minimally owe me dinner for acting as your love guru.” 

With that, she was gone, leaving Stiles with his own thoughts. 

He was going to talk to Derek, otherwise he would never hear the end of it from Lydia. That was one thing that was a guarantee, even if it meant heartache and an awkward and difficult conversation. 

But he was still curious about this idea that they felt the same. Why in any world would Derek feel that way about him? It was easy to rationalize their relationship when he thought that Derek was enjoying having sex and hanging out with someone he didn’t want to murder, or whom didn’t want to murder him. 

This idea that he might like Stiles was absurd. What the hell was Stiles going to do? It wasn’t like he was really equipped to have a deep, emotional conversation. He could barely talk to his therapist sometimes, and she was a badass lady who he knew had his best intentions in mind. Now he was supposed to drive over to Derek’s house and try to have a sit down conversation about what it would look like if they embarked on a committed relationship. 

Derek does not seem like the type to have those kinds of conversations. 

If what Lydia said was true (and it was almost a guarantee that it was), then Stiles had a chance and Derek might actually be willing to apologize for his awful behavior. He wanted so desperately for that to be the truth. He wasn’t ready to seal his heart off and move on, even if that was what he had been trying (and failing) to do. 

“Fuck me,” Stiles muttered to himself, scuffing his foot on his carpet. “I have to get the guts to have this conversation.”

There was no time like the present. 

***

When Stiles arrived at Derek’s house, harried and completely unprepared for this conversation, he was not feeling very confident. He wanted time to at least think it through and consider his own emotions in the face of the situation, but that was not going to happen. 

(He did check in with his own brain, counting out to ten on his fingers and making sure that he wasn’t dreaming or possessed. Nothing would stop him from periodically doing that.)

He stood outside of his car, both to give himself time to prepare, and to lure Derek out of his house. At this moment in time, he couldn’t imagine walking up to his front door and knocking, as if they were friends and not this mess of emotions. 

What was he even supposed to call him? The word ‘ex’ wasn’t right, but they had something more than nothing. 

“Why are you standing outside? I thought you were saying your goodbyes last time,” Derek said, startling Stiles out of his thoughts. 

Damn, he looked good, hair soft on his forehead and hands tucked into a pair of worn jeans. He was wearing a faded blue shirt, one that must have been old, from New York. He could see where the collar was starting to tear up from the rest of the shirt on the front, a little hole that only Stiles could pick out. 

“A certain redhead said I should talk to you, hear you out, instead of trying to put this behind us,” Stiles said, taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm the nerves in his chest. His heart was beating fast, showing Derek how utterly nervous and torn apart he was. 

“She did?” Derek asked, stepping closer to Stiles, crossing the lawn in a few steps. 

Now they were standing a mere ten feet apart, which let Stiles see the emotions in Derek’s eyes, the ones that he always tried to hide with the rest of his expression. 

“I figured nothing could hurt me more than you already did,” Stiles said honestly, looking down. He hated admitting that, both for the fact that he hated admitting his own emotions and for the fact that it felt like throwing it in Derek’s face. He really did not want to hurt Derek, even if he was angry and hurt. 

“I never wanted to hurt you,” Derek said quickly. He looked as if he had just swallowed something weird, his face scrunched up in an expression that even Stiles couldn’t read. He looked pained, confused, hurt, and something else. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere but right there, admitting any sort of emotions. 

“I wanted you to go to college and get a real experience. I didn’t want to tie you down or manipulate you—” Derek cut himself off, scuffing his foot against the ground. He didn’t continue, even though the silence stretched on for a few long moments. 

“Manipulate me? Why would you think anything like that?” Stiles asked, looking up at Derek, trying to understand him at all. He wanted to be open minded, even though everything in his body wanted to leave this all behind him, to try and get away from the hurt as quickly as possible. 

“I didn’t want you to be tied to me, since I’m so fucked up, and I didn’t want to be older and influencing your decisions,” Derek said, his eyes closing. 

“Like Kate?” Stiles asked, getting down to the point. 

Derek winced, as if her name physically hurt him. He nodded quickly, biting his lip. It was clear that this conversation was just as hard for him as it was for Stiles. Neither of them wanted this, but damn, Stiles wanted to get to the other side. To talk and communicate like adults. 

“You’re not her, Derek. You’re nothing like her. You couldn’t be that evil, even if you tried,” Stiles said firmly. 

Derek lifted his head, looking at Stiles’ chest. “That was the truth.”

“That’s because it is the truth,” Stiles said. He patted his chest over his heart, looking intently at Derek. “And you’ll know that I’m telling the truth when I say that I was not being manipulated by you, or influenced, or any other thing that you were thinking of.”

“But, I have so many issues, and you don’t need to deal with—”

“With what? Because, newsflash Derek, I have a whole truckload of issues too, starting with guilt over changing my best friend’s life and ending with possession,” Stiles said, pressing his lips together. 

Derek only nodded at this, looking down at the ground. 

“I still love you. Even after you broke my heart, I still do. And, if you feel the same at all, you have to tell me clearly and directly,” Stiles said, taking a step towards Derek. 

He wanted to reach across the gap between them, hold Derek’s hand and kiss him like he wanted to. He knew there were hard conversations to be had, more in the future, but somehow that didn’t seem daunting right now. With their candid speaking now, he knew that he could do this again, talk things through when they got rough. 

“I shouldn’t have said that, broke it off with you,” Derek said, shaking his head. “Not when I cared about you like I did. Like I still do,” Derek continued, his hands twisting together in front of him. 

“Der, please,” Stiles said, trying to urge him on. After months of waiting, months of hurt, all he wanted to hear was that his feelings were returned. He wanted to know that he could be loved, and that he could love in return. He wanted it so badly with Derek, and he wanted the confirmation. 

“I love you too,” Derek finally said, looking up to meet Stiles’ eyes. 

Silence stretched between them for a moment, the tension building between them. Stiles smiled then, a grin that took over his whole face. 

The feeling of love filled his chest, replaced the nervousness that had taken up all of his energy. He could feel the way it took a hold of him, and he liked it. The feeling of being loved felt so right, and Derek felt so right. 

Stiles crossed the space between them, reaching out towards Derek, wanting to be close to him as soon as possible. 

They met in the middle, as if pulled together like gravity. They kissed immediately, Derek capturing Stiles’ lips with the intention of never letting go. His hands grabbed Stiles’ hips, holding him firmly in place. Stiles’ arms wound around Derek’s neck, pressing them together from head to toe. 

They kissed like they were making up for lost time, lips moving together fiercely and intently, only separating for a gulp of breath or a muttered word of love. It was the kind of kiss that Stiles had always hoped he would get one day, a movie ending kiss, one that meant so much more. 

When they finally broke apart, Stiles couldn’t bear to let him go, pulling Derek into a hug and holding him tightly “We have so much to talk about still.”

“But I love you,” Derek murmured, clutching him just as tightly. 

Stiles laughed lightly, feeling as if he was on the moon. “Maybe we can postpone that conversation, as long as you keep saying that.”

“Then, I love you, Stiles. I love you,” Derek whispered, his lips brushing against the shell of Stiles’ ear. 

“Fuck, Der, you know I love you too. Desperately.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm writing a Magic Mike fic if anyone is interested. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	4. Epilogue!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spring break reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so maybe I didn't like the way I ended things with the fic, and I already had an epilogue planned, but this was not the original epilogue I had planned. This was like if I thought about things a little bit more and they had a deeper emotional conversation. So this means maybe a second epilogue?
> 
> Thanks for all the comments and kudos! I really appreciate it <3
> 
> Follow me!  
> [Tumblr](https://rain-or-clouds.tumblr.com/)  
> [Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7oYv25Gj7fi4hn03Srt4HV?si=iltpspzLSByY8TvqwvnSzQ/)

_ 3 months later _

Stiles was happy when things were smoothed over, and going back to classes was hard. Leaving Beacon Hills, and Derek, was hard. 

They still checked in basically everyday, and they always made time to video chat on the weekends when they were the least busy. Even then, things were not the same. The ache in Stiles’ chest was still there, even after talking on the phone with Derek. He wanted so desperately to see him in person, but it was nearly impossible with their schedules. It felt so hard, so difficult. 

On top of that, Derek started sending him gifts. Like all the time. 

First was flowers, delivered to his dorm. They sat in an old tupperware because Stiles didn’t have a vase, and they made both him and his roommate sneeze endlessly for a few days. 

Next was a pizza, which was delicious and all, but strange. Why would Derek pay for a pizza to be delivered to him? Not that he was complaining, since he got pizza and it was a sweet sentiment from Derek. 

Then there was the record player, which was both totally impractical and not at all Stiles’ style. It fit nowhere in his room, and he didn’t even own any records. He was too impatient to listen to a record when most of the time he wanted to skip through songs on his playlists and never listen to the same artist all at once. It was an off base present, and while Stiles was not ungrateful, he was still vaguely confused. 

“Der, what’s with the presents?” Stiles asked the next time they video chatted, stirring his bowl of food. He waited for a response, but after a few seconds, realized he wasn’t going to get any. “C’mon, we’re all about communication now, remember?” Stiles added, taking a bite. 

“Do you not like them?” Derek asked, preparing his own food. 

Stiles wanted to go back, take back his question and just have their little dinner date in peace. He was not ready for this level of emotional communication, and needed prepared time. With their whole communication fiasco to begin with and Derek’s inability to communicate anything but negativity, their deeper conversations were hard. All Stiles wanted was some light hearted talking over dinner. 

“Of course I like them! I’m just wondering why,” Stiles said, shrugging. 

Derek didn’t answer, leaving the screen to go grab a drink. When he returned, he changed the subject entirely. “Isaac came back,” Derek said. 

“He came back?” Stiles asked, thinking to the last time he saw Isaac, right before he left for France.

Derek launched into the story, but the whole present thing was still on Stiles’ mind. Maybe he would just ask at a later time. 

***

The presents never stopped coming. They would range from something small, like takeout appearing, to something much larger, like the brand new desk chair that Derek bought. 

“You have a sugar daddy?” his roommate asked, looking at the array of things that had started to accumulate on Stiles’ desk. 

Stiles scrunched his face, looking at the piling gifts. “Not really. Just an older boyfriend who apparently likes sending me stuff,” Stiles said, shrugging. He was not one to turn down gifts, but he was seriously wondering why. Why give gifts at all, especially when they were vaguely off base and not what Stiles needed? Stiles needed some new shirts and a shower caddy, not an ice cream machine. He hadn’t even taken it out of the box. 

When spring break rolled around, Stiles headed back to Beacon Hills for a visit, knowing that it was the perfect opportunity to ask Derek all about the gifts. 

He wanted to make it clear to Derek that he was very appreciative, but that maybe Derek should save his money for things in his own home, things that they could share together when Stiles was home for the summer. All of these things were cool, but not for a 19 year old living in a dorm room. 

Stiles liked things, and he liked to keep things, but he liked things with a level of sentimentality. He liked keeping letters and notes, or cute pictures and reminders of the good points in his life. His therapist had recommended looking over those things when he felt the darkness start to move into his brainspace, and he liked doing that. These new gifts were pretty much that: new. They were shiny and had no sense of representation or sentimentality. 

“Babe,” Stiles greeted when he arrived at Derek’s house, feeling a little tired from the drive up. He launched himself at Derek, wrapping his arms around his neck and pulling him into a tight hug, holding him as close as possible. 

He could feel his body release it’s tension, relaxing into the way that Derek felt. He liked the way he relaxed around him, the way his body recognized it’s own version of an anchor and let itself go. He knew Derek had to be feeling something similar, if the way he nuzzled into Stiles’ neck was any indication. 

“I missed you,” Stiles said, pressing a kiss to Derek’s jaw. “I missed you,” he murmured, kissing Derek firmly. 

He missed the way Derek’s fingers dug into his hips, gripping him like he was the only thing he wanted in the world. He missed the way Derek would hold him, both carefully and desperately. 

When they broke apart, Derek hauled him back in for another hug, breathing in his neck and rubbing his hands along Stiles’ back. He was firm in his insistence not to let go, even as Stiles started to wiggle. 

“Can we get inside? I don’t want this to turn x-rated for your neighbors,” Stiles said, pushing at Derek. 

Instead of letting the two of them walk, like normal people, Derek picked Stiles up and tossed him over his shoulder, walking into his house with Stiles dangling off of him. 

“Derek!” Stiles shrieked, trying hard not to move and dislodge himself, his eyes watching the ground carefully. 

***

Stiles was well aware that he shouldn’t interrupt the afterglow, especially after some pretty damn good reunion sex. But something was on the back of his mind, something that he could not ignore for much longer. 

“What is with all of the presents?” Stiles asked, tracing his fingers along Derek’s bare side. He was trying to let himself enjoy the moment, but he felt so insecure. It was hard to feel wonderfully positive about their relationship, even when they had talked over and over. He couldn’t help but be sensitive to any and all changes, good or bad. 

Derek hummed, as if trying to offload the conversation. “Why do you ask?”

“It’s strange, and very unlike you. Plus, while I love you and appreciate the gifts, they are all kind of off base,” Stiles said, snuggling further into Derek’s bare skin, letting himself press close. 

Instead of giving a reasonable answer, Derek started to pull away, putting distance between the two of them. He pushed at Stiles’ hands, sitting up and turning towards the edge of the bed, as if he were about to leap out and run away. 

“Der? Can we just talk about this?” Stiles said weakly, sitting up. He could feel a thickness in his throat, tears already springing to his eyes. This was exactly what he was trying to avoid. 

“Can’t you just accept them?” Derek asked, shaking his head slightly. 

“I can’t when I’m not even sure why. I’m pretty confident that gift giving is not one of your love languages,” Stiles said, reaching over to gently touch Derek’s shoulders. He started with his fingertips, and when Derek didn’t flinch, moved to pressing his whole hand against him. 

Derek seemed frustrated at this, his shoulders tensing. “I’m trying to make up for everything,” Derek mumbled, hands forming fists at his side. 

“Make up for what?” Stiles asked quietly, trying to prod him gently for answers. 

“Make up for hurting you! For ignoring you for three months and making you think I hated you. I did absolutely nothing to fix us, and I feel guilty about it. There. That’s the truth,” Derek said, standing up and crossing the room, moving as far away from Stiles as possible. 

“There’s nothing to feel bad about, Der,” Stiles said, swinging his legs around to sit on the edge of the bed, watching Derek pace along the far wall. “Babe,” Stiles said, catching Derek’s attention. 

“You deserve more than me,” Derek mumbled, holding his head in his hands. He crossed to Stiles quickly, kneeling in front of him. “I should have gotten on my knees and begged for you back when you came back into town,” Derek said, grabbing Stiles’ legs. 

Stiles pulled Derek all the way forward, hugging his shoulders and holding his head to his stomach. He held him for a few long moments, rubbing his hands along Derek’s back and shoulders, trying to relish the moment they were in. 

“Listen to my heart, okay?” Stiles asked, rubbing his thumb behind Derek’s ears. “I love you. You have nothing to apologize for.”

Derek lifted his head, looking up at Stiles. “No lies.”

“That’s right. Now, instead of having this emotional reaction while we’re both naked, let’s get back in bed and cuddle. You have to know that you don’t have to make up for anything,” Stiles said, holding Derek’s face in his hands. 

“I want to, though,” Derek said, turning his head to kiss Stiles’ palm. “I want to make up for how awful I was to you.”

Stiles hummed, stroking his thumbs across Derek’s face. “Instead of presents, maybe just a phone call? Listen to me, see me, and communicate with me. That’s all I ask.”

“I’m a really shitty boyfriend,” Derek said, his eyes dropping. “Even now, I’m making it all about me, when in reality it's all about you.”

Stiles couldn’t help but let out a loud laugh, tilting back until he was laying on the bed. “Fuck, Der, sometimes things just have to be about you. Next time we have an emotional fight, I’ll talk in only ‘I’ statements, and we can argue about that then.”

“Sorry,” Derek murmured, kissing up Stiles’ legs. He let his fingers trail along after him. 

“Hell, if you really want to make things up to me,” Stiles said suggestively, raising his eyebrows as Derek got nearer to his cock. 

“Wouldn’t you love that,” Derek said, kissing the inside of Stiles’ thigh. He nipped at it gently, teasing his way closer. 

“Fuck, I love you,” Stiles said, tilting his head all the way back, relishing the moment. 

“I love you too,” Derek said, right before swallowing Stiles down. 


End file.
